


Afterwards

by Sholio



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: Some missions end better than others.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Themisto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themisto/gifts).



They barely make it onto the Waverider -- bleeding and bruised and stinking of smoke -- and stumble into Ray's quarters before Mick is slamming him up against the wall. It's "thank god we're alive" sex, it's "thank god _you're_ alive" sex, it's Mick's mouth on his and Mick's weight pressing him into the Waverider's bulkhead. It's more angry than tender and more possessive than kind, and right now it's the only thing that can take Ray out of his head, out of the endless loop of self-recrimination and should-have-beens haunting him after a mission that almost went about as bad as any of their missions have ever gone.

He doesn't know what's going through Mick's head right now -- can never tell what's going through Mick's head -- but he can get enough of a read on Mick's state of mind by the way Mick is tearing at his clothes, half ripping his shirt off, fumbling with the zipper on his jeans. Mick's already got Ray's jeans pulled halfway down before their kiss breaks and Mick drops to his knees and Ray manages to get out a startled "Hey --"

Mick doesn't say anything, just takes Ray into his mouth without a word, and Ray arches his head back. The door of his quarters is open, anyone could walk by, _someone_ is going to notice they're not with the rest of the group --

The ship shudders under them. They're about to make the jump to the temporal zone, and there's a distant part of Ray's brain that tells him they ought to brace themselves and strap in, but it's hard to think about anything right now with Mick on him like this, Mick's hands holding him in place, the heat of Mick's mouth --

The shudder of time/space warping rolls across him, across them, and Ray staggers and comes so hard he almost sees stars. He grasps for something, anything to hold onto, and what he gets is a double handful of Mick's collar as he shivers through the aftershocks.

Mick sits back on his heels. The ship is riding steady now, the thrumming of the engines even and calm as it vibrates up through Ray's feet. Ray slumps back against the wall and looks down at Mick, whose eyes are closed, who seems to have found a kind of temporary peace. When they first met, Ray only ever saw that look on Mick's face when he was staring into fire.

"Hey," he says a little shakily, and runs his hand lightly over Mick's head, sinks down slowly to crouch against the wall and cup Mick's jaw in his hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Mick says without opening his eyes.

Ray leans forward and kisses him lightly, tasting himself on Mick's mouth. Mick leans into the kiss, pushing Ray's head back against the wall. But it's not aggressive this time; all the tension has gone out of Mick's big body, as if getting Ray off was its own kind of release for him. When the kiss finally breaks, Ray rests his cheek against Mick's for a minute, then pushes him gently back and murmurs, "I feel like I need to return the favor."

Mick's eyes are half-open, heavy and lidded and sleepy-looking. "Don't care if you do or not."

"Yeah, well, _I_ care." Ray grins a little. "Maybe with the door shut this time."

"Don't care about that either."

"Yeah, I _know_ you don't, but --"

The door hisses shut, making both of them jump. Mick's hand goes toward the heat gun at his belt before dropping away.

"And maybe Gideon's been watching the whole time," Ray sighs. He's still not used to the lack of privacy on this ship. However, maybe Mick's got a point -- if any of the rest of the crew are going to barge in here looking for them, they deserve the eyeful they're going to get.

He gives Mick a gentle tug toward the shower compartment. "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up. It's my turn, and you're gonna stand there and enjoy it."

"Sweet talker," Mick mutters.

They leave a trail of smoke- and blood-stained clothes on the way to the shower -- the blood isn't theirs this time, for a change. There's just enough room for two people in the shower as long as they don't mind being crammed together. Ray isn't entirely sure how the ship manages to have unlimited hot water, but it does (future tech for the win) and the heat of the water sluicing over him, together with lingering lassitude from his orgasm, helps him finally let go of the last vestiges of this long, miserable day. 

Mick hasn't seemed to mind Ray seeing him naked, seeing the scars, since the very first time, but Ray still hasn't figured out how _much_ he doesn't mind. Ray holds his hands under the shower's soap dispenser -- it's some kind of all-purpose, pleasant-smelling goo that's good for hair and bodies and, heck, possibly an emergency food supply for all he knows. Then he soaps Mick thoroughly all over, one part massage and one part getting clean, and Mick leans into the wall of the shower with his eyes closed.

It's dawning on Ray slowly that Mick is really, really tired. It was adrenaline and anger carrying Mick along, mostly, and now he just sags into the side of the shower and lets Ray get him clean. The scars are rough under Ray's hands, and he's careful with the ones he knows are tender, and Mick all but melts into the slow gentle circles that Ray's palms stroke against his skin.

Mick's cock is almost as flaccid as Ray's, in spite of the wet, naked soaping up, and when Ray goes down to his knees in the narrow confines of the shower, Mick opens his eyes. "Probably too tired," he says, and there's trust in that admission, too -- the fact that he's willing to lay his weaknesses that bare in Ray's presence. "Wasn't kidding when I said I don't care. This time."

"I'm giving it the old college try anyhow."

Mick smiles briefly and shuts his eyes again, and his hand drops to curl his fingers into Ray's wet hair. A few minutes later, Ray is forced to concede that he's right. Nothing more is happening in that department tonight.

"Ray," Sara's voice says suddenly over the ship's intercom, and he jerks and slides against the side of the shower. "Is Mick with you?"

"Yeah," Mick growls. "Go away, Blondie."

Ray struggles to his feet, as if it matters when she can't see him. At least he really, really hopes she can't see him. "We're fine, Sara. Don't worry."

"I assume that you, at least, have enough common sense to get down to the medbay if either of you is hurt," Sara's voice says dryly.

"We just need sleep."

"Don't we all," she says, and then the only sound is the hiss of the water cascading around them both.

"I'm surprised you managed to get through that entire conversation without saying anything vulgar or suggestive," Ray remarks, shutting off the water with a palm pressed to the side of the shower.

"Too tired." A pause. "For now."

"Mmmm." The shower shifts into its blow-dry cycle, and a minute later the door slides open. Ray herds Mick in the general direction of the bed, kicking clothes out of their way. The room still smells faintly of smoke. Oddly Ray has found that he doesn't really mind the smell, especially since it seems to calm Mick down.

And Mick is pliant enough -- surprisingly so, even, letting Ray push him into the bed and curl on the outside. The beds are wide enough for two people, with a certain amount of crowding, and right now Ray wants that -- wants the closeness, wants to fit his body to Mick's, lying along the outside edge of the bed like a bulwark against anything that might decide to come through that door.

... like there's anything he can do without the suit that Mick can't do better. He's got to stop getting the damn thing blown up every third time period they end up in.

But ... they got out. Things are okay.

They're okay.

"We're okay," he murmurs into Mick's neck, not quite sure which of them he's talking to.

"I know that, Haircut." Mick's voice is a low rumble, felt more than heard, as he curls his hand around the back of Ray's neck and pulls him in.


End file.
